Tally the Days
by Inactive2586728479292
Summary: Zombie apocalypses aren't kind to the weak. Or the strong. Or anyone, really. When humanity crumbles, instinct becomes vital, and humans become prey, all that's left to do is tally the days.
1. Chapter 1

Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter One,

 **[Tally the Days]**

 **~Groups~**

(As of now- they can and will change. Comments on each group's condition are posted underneath their respective group. Status updates on the groups occur every five chapters)

Suspect Group- Kiku, Arthur, Ivan

(Probably the least likely group to get along. They seem to be surviving)

Militia Group- Lovino, Vash, Matthew

(Strict rules and short temper help this group stay safe. They seem to be surviving fairly well)

Underestimated Group- Tino, Emil, Eduard

(Unexpected intellect and weapons knowledge keeps this group on their feet. They seem to be surviving fairly well)

Charter Group- Roderich, Lukas, Raivis

(A grudging agreement to protect one another binds this group. They seem to be surviving)

Disarray Group- Alfred, Lars, Toris

(This group is in relative anarchy from disagreement, but they stay together out of necessity. They seem to be surviving)

(Survivor group(s) of focus during this chapter: Suspect Group)

"We need to keep moving," Kiku muttered to the arguing duo that formed the group with him. His voice was barely audible, more similar to a mouse or a bird's squeak than speech. With a sigh, the Japanese man stared on beyond the bickering two and at the misty dawn over the destroyed wasteland of what used to be a farming village. It had fallen from fire, that Kiku was sure of by the charcoal and fine layer of ash that coated everything. It briefly occurred to him that his white gloves were dark with soot from where he sat quietly on a burnt log, feeling its flaky, flame-crisped bark and letting his mind wander from the enormity of this situation. Kiku bit his lip but showed no visible signs of his frustration at the English and Russian men. At this rate, though, Kiku could blend into the ground with how gray his white clothes had become, just nestled in the ash. It had been nine nights since they had seen the rotting figures on the horizon, and yet they had stopped to rest at the charred farmhouse three nights ago and refused to keep moving, although they knew the undead humans that pursued weren't much far behind.

Sunshine flickered over the land, spelling a brief moment of security, away from the zombies and the hell they brought on this world. But still Kiku was unnerved, even by the most gorgeous sunrise. He realized what was missing with a start. Bird calls. There were no more birds to sing in the trees, and barely any trees to house birds even if there were plentiful. No morning was the same without waking to the song of the avian wonders. How had the apocalypse damaged the world this much, such to the point a dawn without birdcalls was a normal occurrence? Kiku shook his head slowly as if in disdain of some sort and stood stiffly, but with a sense of honor and respect to his movements. Then he repeated at normal volume speech.

"We need to keep moving," Kiku's level tone seemed to startle the others out of their petty debate. At this rate, they likely thought that the Japanese man was mute before he had just spoken up. While this proved not to be true, as they knew that he spoke, it was still rare when he did so at normal volume. When he did, his voice was always level and his face conveyed none of the emotional reason for his words.

"The zombies are still several days off, Kiku. We can still avoid a fight if we leave tomorrow," The British man, Arthur, spoke with an accent distinctly different from Kiku's own. He knew that Arthur was exhausted, though. He had been wounded in their last brawl with the zombies, after they had discovered that many tactics that people use in movies aren't actually effective against real zombies. They had to resort to running, despite Arthur's leg injury. Ivan had resorted to carrying Arthur so that they could keep up the pace, something he wouldn't let Arthur soon forget.

"I know you're injured but it makes more sense to get a lead, or so I believe…" Kiku added softly, his voice becoming hushed once more. The tall Russian man leaned on a faucet pipe he used as a weapon and spoke up with almost child-like innocence, despite his intimidating stature.

"I could carry you, da?" It came nearly as a question, although it was merely an offer. Kiku sat back down on what he had dubbed as his log, as he sensed another fight brewing. What had seemed like an offer or a suggestion was really an order when it came to Ivan, Kiku had noticed. The Japanese man curled on the log and shut his ears to lessen the loudness of the shout he knew was coming.

"Like bloody hell I'll let that happen!" Arthur screeched, causing the Russian man to give a tiny smile in response. Kiku wondered why in the world Ivan enjoyed angering Arthur, and why in the world Arthur went with it until they both ended up screaming at each other and the 'kol'ing and intimidating aura from Ivan caused them both to abruptly stop. Kiku stood silently and shuffled away. If they weren't coming, so be it. The zombies were only several days off. He'd keep moving without them if he really had to. While a pit formed in Kiku's stomach from anxiety, he couldn't stand waiting around for the undead to find them. As he padded away, Arthur and Ivan stopped their shouting and muttered ashamed apologies- yes, apologies- and set a brisk pace to catch up with Kiku. They did, hauling their supplies over their backs. Kiku took his bag from Arthur, hiding his surprise at the two's actions. Arthur reluctantly passed Kiku his bag, saying he would carry it as an act of apology, but getting shot down when Kiku responded by softly reminding the Brit of his injury. Their walk through the cinder and slag coated wheat stalks took much time, and, uncharacteristically, there was no speech or arguing; there was only the subtle clanking of Ivan's metal faucet pipe tapping against rocks on the ground as he walked.

"…How many people do you figure are still alive?" Arthur asked the other two suddenly, stunned that he had even voiced the thought he had been having. Upon the silence being broken, Kiku and Ivan jumped slightly, but both responded in their own ways, each quiet and solemn. Apocalypses changed people, or so it seemed. At least they held onto as much of their old selves as they could.

"We haven't seen another since the beginning of this hell," While Ivan's voice was its child-like chirp that he sometimes used, there was no morbid humor to it this time- he was serious. Kiku, after deciding that Arthur and Ivan weren't going to fight again, spoke up.

"Ivan is correct. We haven't seen anyone," His voice was barely audible as always, but they understood what he said with resounding clarity. There was almost no one left. Ivan raised his faucet pipe slightly and brought it down lightly against the ground, and leaned down to pick up a palm-sized slab of charcoal he had chipped from the scorched earth. He delicately passed the piece to Arthur, who drew his pocketknife and slashed 16 marks across the crispy material. Tally marks for all the days they had survived since the apocalypse had started. Kiku frowned slightly as Arthur looked to his face, "There's one more," Kiku added, swallowing, "There's 17 days. We've been around for 17 days,"

"Thanks. I'm already forgetting time now, aren't I? Even forgot tea-time yesterday," Arthur muttered as he made the 17th tally. The tallies were tiny so that there was room for more than a hundred more, the back side not included. Kiku wondered if they'd last long enough to fill half of the slab. It was like the bottom half of an hourglass, the amount of sand in the top half entirely unknown. One grain of pearly sand dropping per day. No one could know how much sand was really in the top half- one more grain? Five? A mystery. All they knew was the slab- the bottom half to the metaphorical hourglass. 17 grains in the bottom. Who knows how little or many in the top. The thoughts festered in Kiku's mind like a bleeding, open wound. They chafed his stream of conscious and bore their way in. There was no escape from the thought of the hourglass.

"Tea time? A pleasant luxury that would be, da!" Ivan gave a chirping response, although his humor was half-hearted. The Russian man's tattered scarf waved in the breeze.

"If we ever had tea again. God, what I wouldn't give for some bloody tea right now…" Arthur muttered as they neared the edge of the field.

"Bloody tea doesn't sound all that appetizing," Kiku tried to manage a whisper of a joke. The situation was dark. He tried to lighten it- anything to get the hourglass out of his head. He would go to the extent of cracking jokes if that became necessary, as difficult as it was for him. Humor had never come easily to Kiku. Half-hearted chuckles greeted his weak attempt at cheering everyone up. If they didn't have hope, the hourglass would run out sooner than later.

"You know what I meant, wanker," Despite his chuckling, Arthur sighed heavily. Ivan held his hand out to take the slab with the tallies, which Arthur passed to him with indifference. Kiku took a deep breath. It would be a long time before anything felt normal again- maybe it never would. Ivan looked down at the faces of the shorter men.

"I'll keep the Znak Rok," Ivan gave a nod as he spoke to them. Kiku wet his lips with his tongue to keep them from drying before agreeing softly. If he kept the lump of charcoal with the slice marks, the hourglass would never leave his head, the sand dropping… dropping… dropping… Arthur seemed okay with the prospect of the Russian man carrying the coal, and so nodded as well. It was also noted that the piece of charcoal now had a name- which had been given to it quite accidently by Ivan. Of course, the name was in Russian, but it meant 'Mark Rock'. While it was technically spelled знак рок, it was pronounced like Znak Rok. So that would be its name. Somehow, naming the strangely cruel object lessened the evil of the hourglass. A wave of sighs echoed down their line as Ivan tucked the Znak Rok into his pocket, the black dust from it coating his gloves, and they stared out at the first paved road they had encountered in 17 days. Ahead of them was a small town. Typically, towns housed people. Living people. Now, they assumed it would be brimmed with corpses. Maybe even some 'living' corpses. Arthur turned to the others.

"Should we enter?" He looked at a nastily rusted street sign that was once intelligible, but now had its words scuffled away and the orange and bronze bubbles of rust welled along its edges like water running down after a fierce storm. Kiku shifted his feet uncomfortably. Ivan stared blankly, tapping the faucet pipe against the ground in thought. They had no real weapons on them- only a pocket knife and a faucet. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves if attacked, whether by armed humans or zombies. Both faucet pipe and pocketknife glistened in the now high sun as midday came. What little weapons they had needed to be out and prepared.

"It would take much too long to go around," Kiku whispered to himself, but in the eerie shroud of quiet that the moment brought, his voice sounded like a scream in volume's terms. The three crouched behind a cement median divider along the road, eyes flickering about for signs of danger.

"So we have no other choice, da?" Ivan responded, equally as quiet in caution. Still, his voice seemed to echo with volume. The dusty and soot covered metal faucet caught the light as if from pride, scraping at the asphalt as they sat. The pocketknife returned the smirking light. It was true. They had no other choice. The Japanese man breathed in a short breath, smelling the scent of decay thick in the air, as well as the scent of ash that was being blown out from the burned farmland behind them. Air seemed thicker than water and breath was hard to catch. Tension was building like a growing wave. Something wasn't quite right here. A pebble slid from a nearby rooftop, letting gravity carry it to the ground. The sound of it seemed enormous in the soundless town and all three swung their eyes towards the small rock as it fell, jumping and clinging to each other from sudden terror. It wasn't the sound or the rock that put them on edge, though. It was the fact that pebbles don't just fall. Kiku held his breath. Arthur breathed, heavily and silently. Ivan watched, unblinking and tense.

"Who's there?" Arthur dared ask after a moment, keeping his voice hushed. An answer came a moment later in the form of a murder of crows bursting into the air, squawking and screaming and they lurched through the air, away from the sheltered rooftop that had been their roost. They had been dining on flesh, Kiku observed, seeing the black birds with their feathers and beaks glistening red from blood- not their own blood. They were the first birds he had seen in a very long time. But they were crows. An ill omen- and they had been feasting on a carcass, most likely that of a dead human. Maybe even a freshly dead carcass. The crow's voices were like horrid bells, loud, clear and ringing as they flocked away through the sky to find their next meal. Of course scavengers would flourish in an apocalypse. They all sucked in a deep breath as one, then let it out in a great sigh, still crouching behind the median divider. A lot had happened in so little time. Basic human instinct was back- the voice in the back of your brain screaming for you to run when that pebble dropped, that feeling of being watched, the tension in the air… The feeling of being prey again, Kiku realized. Humans were prey now. The group huddled, recovering, for a minute before getting unsteadily to their sore feet. Arthur needed helping due to his leg injury, which effected mostly his ankle and swelled from walking. The bruising along the wound was deep black like necrosis, but it was more than certainly a bruise, "Let's keep going. I'm ready to keep going," Arthur huffed out after balancing on his feet, favoring his wounded leg.

"Arthur, that might not be the best idea," Kiku admitted, brushing a tangled knot of black hair out of his eyes. The headstrong Brit wasn't nearly as proud as some, but he was proud enough that he would want to continue walking just to prove his injury wasn't as bad as they all thought it was. Kiku startled when the hourglass cut back into his mind, shredding his train of thought to ribbons. It was now early afternoon, and they had been walking since dawn. The British man couldn't go much further, although he'd insist he could. The desperately needed somewhere to rest. Food and water was also a high priority, Kiku noted as he was forced to wet his chapped lips once more. His stomach groaned softly in a plea for food. Ivan pointed across the street, and the two followed his gaze and direction.

"There's an alley over there. Get out of the open and let your wound breathe for a bit- rest. You have no option. I'll go get some lunch and water for us, even if I have to scavenge. Deal?" Kiku knew that the Russian wasn't offering them a choice, but he would've agreed either way. Whatever protest Arthur could've managed was silenced by a sudden jolt of pain that came when he stepped over the median barrier. He was only just able to silence a shout. His ankle looked horrible, though- it had started bleeding again. Kiku cursed himself. This was his fault- he had insisted on making the trek out of the burnt, barren countryside and into the dangerous, tense town that may as well have been a very tiny city. Despite his distaste for physical contact, Kiku took Arthur's arm and wrapped it over his shoulder so that he could support the other man in walking towards the nearest alley where they could rest out of sight. Arthur muttered a thanks, finally accepting the help. As they stumbled towards the alley, Ivan waved a good-bye as he headed off in search of food and water, slipping into the shadowy doorway of a run-down shop on the other side of the street, though he didn't necessarily have to go through the door, as the front window was entirely shattered. Ivan didn't particularly wish to pick glass out of his shoes for the rest of the afternoon and evening, however, so he chose to enter through the door.

"Lay down," Kiku helped the Brit to sit down and prop his head up on a rugged brick wall. Arthur bit his lip to keep from hissing in pain as Kiku took off the other man's shoe and sock as gently as possible. Despite being gentle, anything touching the injury made it burn like fire had been ignited underneath his skin, sizzling its way up his leg and towards his brain. Spots and black stars clouded Arthur's vision briefly, and he attempted to shake his head to rid himself of them. Worse. That only made it worse. Kiku had to hold a hand over the Brit's mouth as he wailed softly from the headache that blossomed within his skull- if he didn't muffle the sound they'd surely be discovered. Kiku shifted out of the only patch of sun within the alley and nestled into the shade to get closer to Arthur's leg to examine the wound. Some sort of awful twist or sprain. His entire foot swelled from blood and maybe even some pus. Dark purples, blues, and greens covered the surface of his skin. Kiku shifted once more into the sunshine, deciding that although he'd like to help, there was nothing he could do but wait for Ivan to return. He settled down on the grimy, mossy ground with slight hesitation, sitting next to Arthur, who had chosen a seat in the shade. By now, Arthur's eyes had closed peacefully and he lightly dozed. Kiku startled when a shadow blotted out his little square of sunlight that had been bringing him warmth. It was only Ivan. Kiku let out his breath from relief. Ivan was intimidating and scary to both Arthur and Kiku, but he was much better than some random rogue. Kiku put one gloved hand over his own mouth in a 'shh' in order to signal to Ivan that while he could talk, he should be quiet.

"He is asleep?" Ivan asked softly as he lowered himself onto the ground beside the Japanese man, the sunlight returning now that he had moved. Kiku gave a tiny nod. Ivan passed Kiku a small cardboard box, and he opened it. Inside there were three flasks filled with crushed ice that would later become water. Also within the box was several cans of preserved fruit. It would only last them all one meal, but it was much better than nothing, especially after a full day without eating thus far. Kiku quietly woke Arthur with several hesitant taps to his shoulder. The Japanese man put a finger over his own lips once again to motion for quiet.

"This might sting a bit," Kiku's voice was cracked, dry, and tiny. Arthur furrowed his bushy eyebrows briefly before seeing the man fill his hand with crushed ice from the flask that had been meant for him. Kiku was using his own water to help Arthur. Arthur couldn't help but pout.

"Use my water," He half-croaked, still weary from his doze. Kiku shook his head 'no' and placed the ice gently upon the swollen skin. Arthur grit his teeth and clenched his fists at first in agony before relaxing as the ice melted, letting out a sigh. The relief the ice brought after the initial sting was incredible. They all sat there quietly the rest of the evening, trying to create conversation but all words were spoken in a hushed manner and conversations never lasted long. Sickly sweet and yet welcomingly wet canned fruit was downed, as was the rest of the water. The sun was beginning to set when Ivan headed off to get more crushed ice. He returned after moonrise with several more flasks of crushed ice than he'd begun with, now carrying five of the containers in the pitiful box, which was discarded a moment later.

"One for each of us, one for Arthur's wound, and the last to share evenly," The Russian explained, causing the other two to bob their heads in agreement, although Arthur was noticeably reluctant to admit that he needed extra care due to his leg. At last, they all reclined against the brick wall, looking up at the tiny square of sky they could see from within the alleyway. Stars danced across the blanket of darkness as if the apocalypse had never happened. As if they hadn't seen the terror and morbid death that occurred beneath them every dusk. Their light reflected over the hollow shell of a town, bathing it in a cold wash of starlight. Even bright colors became muted. Kiku wondered for many nights in a row now how such glory still existed. Even Ivan's glistening eyes were fixed on the bright specks in the sky. One by one, they all dozed off to the swirling starlight and what miniscule bit of a dancing, frolicking breeze reached the alley.

Like always, they woke only a bit after dawn. They were all alive. Kiku woke to fresh ice-water brought by Ivan and another tally in the Znak Rok. 18 days. One more grain closer to the hourglass running out. The pitter-patter of falling sand was ingrained in Kiku's mind from his dream. In the dream, all he could do was watch and wait. Watch and weight sand falling from the top of the hourglass to the bottom- whenever it seemed it would run out, the hourglass was refilled or flipped over. It was horrifying, watching days as sand slide past his eyes- closer and closer to no more days. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. The Japanese man pinched himself to rid the thoughts and the sickening sound of falling sand. But the sound didn't leave. It occurred to him that it wasn't from his dream, but the waking world. He sat up uneasily, ashamed that he had slept in and on edge from the sound as Ivan shoved breakfast towards him. Kiku waved him off, saying that Arthur could have it, despite his stomach protesting. Ivan claimed that Arthur had already eaten- a true statement, actually. Kiku took the box of stale crackers and began to munch on them, eating with a sort of slow politeness despite everything. Old habits die hard. His eyes didn't rest on much as they scanned the alley for the source of the sound like the one from his dream. Arthur seemed oblivious to the sound, reorganizing their small packs with what little supplies they owned, his foot back within its sock and boot. Ivan was also oblivious, polishing his faucet pipe with the sleeve of his shirt, which, to be honest, creeped Kiku out a little. But now wasn't the time for that. The sound. So repetitive it was torturing.

"Do you hear that?" He questioned, biting his lip from frustration after taking a sip of freezing water. The cold soothed his throat, but not his brain. His entire mind was flustered, dedicating everything it had to the sound like spilling sand. Both of the others shook their heads with frowns.

"What do you hear, da?" Ivan inquired, resting his faucet pipe down on the ground. It glimmered in the tiny brand of light he had placed it in. He suspected that the Russian had gone through quite a bit of effort to clean the makeshift weapon to the point where it nearly sparkled. Arthur paused his organizing to listen for whatever strange noise that Kiku heard, but detected nothing much other than the sound of a muted wind.

"It's… like the sound sand makes when it flows," Kiku responded absentmindedly, concentrating for the sound. He found it, the thing that tortured his ears and mind, and immediately wished he hadn't searched the air for the sound again. Maybe it was all in his head. Perhaps he was going entirely irrational and crazy from a variety of factors not limited to but including: sleep deprivation, thirst, hunger, and lack of social interaction with sane people. No. Kiku reasoned that he couldn't be going insane- insane people tended to have no concept of the fact that they weren't okay. Ivan looked around as if he could find the answer by sight. Suddenly, Arthur whispered, his voice filled with dread.

"I hear it…" His face went slightly stricken with something between unease and horror. Ivan, picking up his pipe as he got to his feet and tucking the Znak Rok into his pocket once more, listened more closely. Then he heard it as well. A quiet sound. Not quite anything fit the sound, but the closest guess was as Kiku had said- flowing sand. The horrendous repetition in it was maddening.

"There," Ivan pointed, at last pinpointing the location of the sound, "It's coming from there," he pointed out of the alleyway the clustered in and across the street to an old parking garage that had broken vehicles scattered about its entrance like dead insects. Hearts in their throats, they inched across the road in the morning shadows, anxious and curious. All of their items were packed up and on their backs. They prepared to run as they neared the garage, tension grasping at their throats as their mouths ran dry. Another sound joined the first. Something like a heavy object being dragged across the concrete of the floor. Nervousness pumped through their veins instead of blood in that moment. Cautious, quaking steps left light footprints in the dust of the parking garage's floor. It was as if they could hear one another's racing hearts, which served to only amplify the terror and dread that fed on their insides. The hourglass pattered in each of their minds. 18th day. 18 tallies on the Znak Rok. It couldn't end now. It couldn't. Next they heard another sound. Breath. Human or zombie? The latter would certainly be aggressive. The former was more difficult to pinpoint. But there wasn't any going back- a zombie would smell them soon and a human would follow the footprints if they ran. The grimy cement wall was cold beneath their touch- more frigid and glacial than ice.

At last, they huddled close to the ramp to the second floor, their progression painfully slow due to Arthur's injury and all of their fear. The aura around them right then must have reeked of terror. They were ashamed to be afraid, really they were, but this situation could mean their death. Kiku cursed himself once more for deciding to mention the sound. Closer, closer. The dragging got louder. The sand noise grew into an almost steady hiss. The labored breath from before was near. Footsteps caught their attention as well. Clad in thick boots. Most likely human. Not to say that zombies didn't wear boots- sometimes they were intelligent and wore things such as helmets and shoes- but a human was more likely. Thumping, the footsteps. They were closer. There was no speech that they heard, however. Little morning light entered the parking garage through the second floor windows and dappled at their feet in dazzling spots. No time to concentrate on the light. Full instinct. Only instinct. Ivan glided silently further through the shadows, tucking himself behind a car on the second floor. Kiku followed, graceful and noiseless. Arthur quietly limped to their location. Pressed behind the car wheel, they took heavy, ragged breaths from apprehension. Trepidation was closing in. They fought it away. Their curiosity was more powerful than their fear. Curiosity killed the cat. No- curiosity was framed. Ignorance killed the cat. But did that make curiosity safe? Hell no.

A single poke or shift in movement would've startled the hyperaware trio into having heart attacks. All systems were on high alert. What came next made it incredibly difficult to muffle their screams. A sound of a gun cocking- being loaded. Zombies didn't use guns. This was a human. And they couldn't run anymore. If a human had a gun, he or she most likely intended to use it. If they intended to use it, it would be for self-defense, right? A minute seemed like a century. Seconds were hours. Cold sweat stuck their clothing fast to their bodies.

"Welcome, intruders," A voice that was level and resounding echoed throughout the parking garage, shattering the silence. Kiku, Arthur, and Ivan were fairly brave, respectable people. But they were terrified. Peering out from behind the car, they saw no one there. But they did see the causes of all of the sounds. The sound like sand was from a carton of gunpowder that had been used to fill several firearms that lay across the ground a short ways away. The dragging was weighty sandbags that were piled near the other objects. Breath and footsteps both came from a human- the same human who prepared by cocking the rifle, no doubt, "Come out," the voice thundered even though it was only medium volume. Echoes of the voice carried for seconds afterward. Seconds became days.

"We'll find you if you don't come," Another voice added harshly, without the clarity of the first voice. The three had no option. They stood and walked on shaking legs from behind the car. And were faced with three more people. One of them had a rifle. Another grasped two pistols. The last was unarmed. They didn't stand a chance if these people wanted a fight. All they could do was pray that they didn't.

 _To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter Two,

 **[Tally the Days]**

(Survival group(s) of focus during this chapter: Suspect Group, Militia Group, and Unexpected Group)

Vash levelled the barrel of his rifle at Arthur's chest. Lovino's ability to dual-wield the two pistols would get the others. The Swiss man grit his teeth as Matthew gave him an exasperated look. They were all remembering what had happened earlier. Surely they were. Vash lost heart and his eyes glazed as the memory struck him;

 _"Matthew! Lovino can't carry any more supplies- he'll collapse! My pack is already full and heavy. We don't have room!"_

 _"We can't leave it behind, though! We need it for self-defense… Can't we get rid of something we don't need as much…?"_

 _"Everything we have is vital! Hey, you, don't go through my bag!"_

 _"Vash, we need it. We really do,"_

 _"The firearms will be enough to scare people off, Matthew. Why are you so keen on bringing it, anyways? You don't even have the heart to fire a gun at a person! Or even a zombie, for that matter!"_

 _"…Vash…"_

 _"We can't keep it, Matthew,"_

 _"Vash- we'd have room if we got rid of these dried tulips that are in your bag…"_

 _"No! The tulips stay, at any cost! I won't get rid of the last gift I was given by him, even if he is-"_

 _"Vash, please let go of his loss… this is the apocalypse…"_

 _"Says the Canadian!"_

 _"…Please…"_

 _"Go. Dump it in the river- we don't have room for it,"_

 _"…If you say so…"_

 _"Good,"_

 _"Hey Vash…?"_

 _"What is it now?"_

 _"I think I know the real reason why you… you wanted to get rid of it. You can't kill someone, either. You don't have the heart to pull the trigger, Vash,"_

 _"I suppose that could be considered true. I thought you would understand, though, Matthew,"_

 _"I do. Mind over matter- fear will drive any attackers away, anyways, right?"_

 _"Good. You may be somewhat of a pacifist, but you know what you're doing. Now come on, let's get this rifle loaded,"_

 _"…But you had me dump it…?"_

 _"Blanks, Matthew. We have blanks,"_

 _"Oh…"_

 _"Now come on and help so I don't have to wake Lovino,"_

 _"…Okay…"_

 _"Hm,"_

 _"But Vash…? Are you sure intimidation is enough…?"_

 _"It should be,"_

Vash was reminded of the events that seemed centuries ago and yet also as if they'd happened yesterday. He pressed his finger lightly against the trigger, the cold touch of it against his pale flesh. Matthew's eyes darted fearfully. Lovino gave an oddly satisfied smirk. Vash brought himself to speak at last to the trio with the terror stricken eyes and hands raised in defeat.

"Why did you come? You don't look much like effective killers," Vash let his voice thunder around the garage once more. He saw the dark-haired one take a half-shuffle backwards, although his expression was entirely unreadable despite the fear in his eyes. The one with the bushy eyebrows merely scowled, gripping a blunt pocket knife that looked as if it couldn't cut open a tin can- which was actually quite correct. But there was some sort of masked trepidation in his face as well. Last in the line of three was the incredibly tall man, who brandished a gleaming faucet pipe. While the faucet pipe could've been potentially deadly, they would be fine so long as they stayed away from its reach. The thing looked more like it had been used as a tool than a weapon- likely for smashing cans that the knife could clearly not open. This observation was also true. Although Vash had raised his voice, there came no answer from the three opposite them.

"Speak!" Lovino hissed. Somehow, Vash couldn't pull his finger on the trigger, even with knowing that there was no ammunition… They had merely filled the guns with bits of gunpowder- blanks. Still, there was something horrid about terrifying another human being… That had been the sand noise- the gunpowder being filled into the guns. They had worried about the sound attracting unwanted attention, but they had been more concerned about the undead finding them than nearly unarmed humans. At last, the Brit opened his mouth to say something.

"We heard sounds and came to investigate," The British man obviously didn't realize how idiotic he sounded as he said the words, struggling to keep his voice from rising in pitch from fury. Matthew gave Vash a desperate look. _We can't hurt them_. The look spoke volumes, but at times, Vash was soundproof to anyone other than himself. His mind begged him to pull the trigger. _Just blanks… you don't have any ammunition…_ He willed himself to bring his finger down, forced himself to. He didn't. Time seemed to stop as the Russian man shifted his weight and something dark fell from his pocket. A slab of charcoal. It dropped to the floor with a mild clanking and the tall man reached slowly and hesitantly to pick it up. Vash admired the courage of the man at gunpoint, but couldn't say that he respected these people. For all he knew, they had been the ones to kill- Never mind. The thought was gagged and dragged to the back of Vash's mind, where its muffled calls still reached his conscious.

"What is that? The stone," Vash's question was more like a harsh statement. The charcoal with the markings puzzled him. _Why keep such a useless trinket?_ Then it occurred to him- sentimental value. It was the same reason he refused to rid himself of the dried flowers, after all.

"The Znak Rok? It is our way of tallying our survival, da," The man responded coolly in a sort of chirp. There was no fear in his voice. If there was, it was masked behind his thick scarf and iron layers of a mental wall. Matthew's pleading look met Vash's eyes again. _Don't do it- don't scare them off. They can help us_. His look begged Vash silently in the musty garage where they had now camped for many days.

"Tallying survival? Elaborate," Vash commanded, curious. Curiosity had gotten those three into their current situation. Was he dragging himself to their level? No. He had the upper hand. He had fear. A deck of aces in the game of war. He shifted a foot on the olive-hued moss that carpeted the cement floors, spilling from the cracks in the pavement like a steady ooze of green liquid. Morning sun made tense patches of light between the two groups.

"We mark on it the number of days our entire group has survived for since the onslaught of this apocalypse," The Japanese man explained quietly with words like a sakura tree fluttering against itself in the breeze. They all strained to hear what he mentioned at first, but the echo even the quiet voice created told them what they needed to know. Matthew looked between Vash and Lovino, heart clenched. This was one of the only times he actually wished he could disappear like he always had in his childhood, forgotten in the background of life… _Don't, please don't…_ He begged internally, wiping away a single curly strand of hair that fell over his forehead. His glasses misted a bit and he wiped them against his shirt, heart clenching even more. He could see from the corner of his vision Vash's finger twitch at the trigger of his rifle. _Don't…_ He startled when Lovino of all people put away his blank-filled guns. Matthew detected surprise on the faces of the entire group within the parking garage, Lovino himself included. Lovino's almost amber-brown eyes narrowed like a snake's and he whipped around and plopped down to sit on a sandbag dramatically. Vash lowered his rifle with a deal of reluctance and glanced between the two people he had been forced into calling a family since this hell started. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Vash set down his rifle and took a seat, heart thumping in his throat. Matthew released a heavy sigh of relief, brushing a bit more of his unruly blond hair from his face with a single hand.

"I think it would be best if you left this town- there's zombies crawling everywhere… We've seen a… few… people go down to them…" The Canadian spoke up, his voice calm and urgent. He avoided Vash's harsh gaze by looking at his booted feet, but still felt the icy spears of the gaze's hurt embedding themselves within his neck. Lovino's fiery glare was on him as well, he noticed with a jolt. He wished he could curl up and disappear… How much easier everything would be if he could just curl up and disappear…

"We'll go where we wish, whether that be out of this town or in it," Arthur stated flatly, and although his words and tone were powerful, they felt extraordinarily hollow. Vash raised an eyebrow at this near-threat but didn't form an argument of any sorts- just held back Lovino from jumping at the newcomers' throats. All fight had drained from their spirits and they wished nothing more than to collapse- all of them. Kiku felt the hourglass come back into his head- a morbid image he wished nothing more than to destroy. A nightmare of the disgusting time-keeping device is what had gotten them in this situation to start with, after all. Light danced at their feet in the despairing silence. When Kiku's eyes caught on something behind the other group, he quieted a gasp.

"What are your tallies for?" He said in a hushed voice, even for himself, a sense of awe, surprise and even fear clouding his voice. There were long slash marks against the cement wall, dirty but effective. The cuts in the cement looked raw, like Arthur's festering wound, as the cement was scabbing itself up with moss and murky water slithered from the slices, a sickening color. Matthew cleaned his glasses on his coat again self-consciously, avoiding answering the question. Vash gave a bitter hiss like boiling water but responded when Lovino didn't.

"How many people from our group that have died. We have five tallies. Eight people strong became three in a matter of days. All of us humans are fools to think we'll live this hell out," His answer came with a voice almost choked with what could've been sadness but with a stronger sense of pessimism and cynicism. Tally the days. Tally the deaths. Tally the fates. Marks on the rock. Marks on the wall. Marks on life.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Kiku whispered a genuinely heartfelt response, slowly settling down on the cement ground, folding himself neatly, then giving up on that and curling into the fetal position with his face on his knees. The other two slowly sat as well, each in their own position. Only Matthew remained standing, busying himself by picking at a loose string on his coat and continuously brushing the same annoying hair out of his face. Everything became drastically shadowed as the sun rose slightly in the sky and finally peaked through the open-air windows. The sharp outlines of all of their faces were sullen as they lounged mutely. The silence could've been cut by a knife, it was so thick. Finally, the quiet broke,

"If the sand sound was the gunpowder," Arthur nodded in the direction of the container from where he sat, speaking just for the heck of saying something, "Then you have no ammunition. You only have blanks."

"Yeah. Maybe this one does," Vash motioned to Lovino, then spoke, ashamed, "But I don't really have the heart to kill. I mean, not after all that's happened. I used to be able to," He readjusted his seat on the sandbags, ammunition-less rifle settling in his lap. His chest still ached from etching the fourth scar on the wall. All of the tallies had been people he hadn't known, people they just found and helped. Except for the fourth to go. It was a worse feeling than any wound, the gorge that yawned empty without the person that tally represented. Dead. The person was dead. He couldn't dwell on the dead- he had to protect the living. The hot-headed Italian propped his feet up on the gunpowder case and sneered.

"If you jerk bastards didn't have that lump of rock than you'd have been dead for sure," Although his voice was sour, there was a child-like pout to it. Clearly the Italian wasn't nearly as snarky and dangerous as he seemed; he practically threw tantrums like a kid! Ivan piped up in response.

"Really? Well isn't that sweet," The chirpiness in his voice was unnerving, as well as his strangely convincing sarcasm. Ivan rolled the Znak Rok about in his hands, checking its surface for cracks or blemishes from its earlier fall. Arthur gave a subtle snort at Lovino's comment and shifted his position so that his hurt leg wouldn't be crushed. Kiku stared off blankly as he had done the previous morning when Ivan and Arthur had been arguing. There was a strange peace to the two groups, even if they were on-edge, and even if it seemed that Lovino wasn't particularly fond of Ivan's sudden teasing.

"We were planning on moving on in two days' time to head for whatever it is that lies to the West now," Vash murmured to no one in particular. Matthew finally sat and added to the statement.

"There was no chance of us being able to stay in town after we dumped the bullets, so we knew we needed to head out. We came to the town from the south, but we're thinking of heading west. Lovino here has a compass, but we usually find our way using the sun. When Lovino came to join us two from the east, he told us about another group of survivors that he had seen that usually camps out to the west, although he saw them as they circled around the town," Matthew explained quickly but shyly once he realized that he had everyone's attention. Arthur grit his teeth and responded.

"We just came from the west. It's just bloody burnt farmland for miles, and zombies come from that direction constantly. There aren't any rivers and the only food comes from what you can store in your pack from wherever it is you came from. If you get really desperate, though, there's mice. Luckily, we never got quite that desperate," Arthur provided, remembering their trek through the slag-covered fields sourly. Vash considered his words, while Lovino searched Arthur's eyes for hints that he could be lying. Matthew furrowed his brow.

"Hm. We could always head north," Matthew pondered. Kiku looked up from where he had been spacing out.

"Could we try the east?" The Japanese man suggested softly, harmlessly. A look of horror came over Lovino, Matthew and Vash's faces. They all glanced at each other before Lovino responded.

"Only an idiot would travel to the east right now- there's a city that way. The city is absolutely filled with hordes of the jerk bastard zombies and rotting corpses that make the place smell from several miles away. Even if you can get past that, there's no avoiding the diseases that fester within the corpses and then spread to the living," Lovino ranted, seemingly implementing various obscenities where they shouldn't be, so we've removed those for the sake of understanding. Ivan shook his head distastefully at the news and Arthur swore under his breath. Kiku was silent once again.

"Our only option is north. We suggest you do so as well, but not with us. Too large of a group would draw unwanted attention. If you want a lead on us and the zombies, head out today. The zombies will stay until we leave, so you should have a reasonable head-start," Vash ground out, standing, "Now be off- you won't have enough supplies for the trip if you don't start to scavenge now."

With a bit of time and a bit more chatting, Kiku, Ivan and Arthur went off on their way, trusting the other group about the little they knew about the north. As they left, the remaining three settled back down on the grimy concrete and took inventory of what they could and could not take when they made the trip.

"I'm going to go stock on some more nonperishables, if you don't mind. I should be back soon," Matthew stood and called back to Vash and Lovino, who were busy organizing. Lovino just gave a nod and Vash made no sign that he had heard as he crouched over his bag to examine the dried tulips. Matthew could've sworn he saw a single, almost crystal-clear tear in Vash's eye. Vash never cried. Matthew's heart broke with empathy. Loss hurt. Hurt more than if the tallies of the dead were sliced on your wrist instead of the wall. In honesty, Matthew wasn't sure they were marked on the wall. They were marked on their hearts. Scars in their dangerously lonely hearts. He kept walking until he reached the white curtain of daylight.

Matthew hurried along the street's shadows, sticking to alleyways when he could. Once he thought he saw a figure tuck itself into an alley as he passed, but upon further inspection proved to be nothing more than some tattered newspapers blowing in the breeze. Wispy clouds streaked the powdery cerulean sky and briefly it crossed Matthew's mind that it might rain in several days. He was just padding past a notoriously narrow alleyway that barely fit his shoulder width- despite him not having wide shoulders- when he heard a whispered shuffling within it. He paused, listening for the shuffling again. It didn't come. Matthew, panicky, continued at a much brisker pace in search of food. The Canadian quickly slid through a shattered shop window with a great amount of expertise and tucked himself into the shadows between a book shelf and a wall as he watched the street for signs of movement. There was the shuffling again. Something about the world going apocalypse made random sounds stranger and much more menacing.

Matthew held his breath as he saw the cause of the shuffling; a zombie. His heart beat wildly as he fought to stay still and undetected- he hadn't brought a weapon with him. He actually never brought a weapon with him- he didn't have the heart to kill and lacked the skill to use and weaponry they found, anyways. It was a rotting human, absolutely revolting, and without its lower body. The undead thing just dragged itself across the ground on its belly using its bony arms that had skin peeling off of them as if it were ribbons. It was devoid of hair, a sickly pale, and trailed a bloody slime as well as hanging intestines and other entrails. Matthew retched from disgust, but refused to actually vomit, as the creature would surely notice him then. The smell coming from the creature was worse: a pungent odor like sweat and urine mixed with the bitter tang of globs and globs of blood. Absolutely sordid.

Before Matthew knew what was happening, he heard a shout and saw a young man no older than himself dart from the creature that dragged itself at a snail's pace. The zombie coughed blood suddenly before letting out a low moan like crunching gravel. A third sound destroyed the Canadian's eardrums when it hit- the sound of gunfire. Bullets hammering into the crawling undead thing's carcass and tore it to shreds, scattering pieces of it across the ground from its empty eye sockets to its half-intact intestines. Breath resuming at last, Matthew heaved in deep breaths to calm himself. The man who had been running turned and readjusted his wire-framed glasses that were actually a bit similar to Matthew's own as he met up with the shooter. Both were blond and medium height, but clearly not related. Matthew watched in confusion as the two clapped each other on the back and almost seemed to laugh, although Matthew couldn't really tell from his distance from the events. They stood at the other end of the street, tucked out of sight of any shooters that could be above ground level, and almost seemed to talk.

The one with the glasses nodded to the one without and they both started to cross the street with caution. Not for cars, obviously. For people or zombies. Matthew jumped when he realized that they were coming towards him, towards the shop he was hiding in. They'd walk right past him. His stomach churned. The shorter blond of the two, the one with the relatively thin shoulders and pale blue jacket over a white tank top and jeans, was no more than four feet from Matthew. And it seemed that this near-violet-eyed person had been the shooter who decimated the zombie- a rifle was slung over his back, and from where Matthew was tucked he could see that it was loaded, if the earlier demonstration wasn't enough. An eagle-eyed marksman. That's who the shorter was. Who was the other? He wasn't much taller and his shoulders weren't much broader but the shape of his face was noticeably different. The wire glasses on his face made his deep blue eyes almost gray, and something about their depths suggested that this person knew what they were doing, too. Just then, the taller cocked his head slightly and came over to the bookshelf that Matthew ducked behind. The man with the glasses gently secured the Canadian by the arm and dragged him into the open.

"Hello. So you were the audience to our little demonstration. Ha- I knew I had sensed someone," his voice was only medium in pitch and volume, but had a sort of intellectuality or almost cunningness to it, despite its owner's friendly face. Matthew wondered the chances of survival this guy would have if he had been hiding with a loaded gun the entire time instead of no weapon.

"Demonstration?" Matthew couldn't keep himself from asking. He looked between the two skeptically. The shorter one chimed in next, also seemed almost cheerful, as if he were a mother boasting about her children's achievements.

"Yes. The last person with us doesn't quite know how to deal with zombies, so I had Eduard here get one to chase him. It was a bit slower than he thought, though," They both gave amused chuckles, "Oh, yeah, I'm Tino, by the way."

"Tino is the 'mother hen' of the group. He protects all of us from harm and scolds us just like you'd expect from an overprotective mother. As Tino already mentioned, I'm Eduard. Emil is the other member of our group- him and I are basically treated like Tino's children or sons even though we aren't any younger than him," Eduard pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. Matthew found the relation a bit strange, but people did what they did, or so he figured. If Tino wanted to be the 'mother' of both Eduard and Emil, who was Matthew to stop him, especially since 'momma' Tino was an eagle-eyed sniper?

"Oh. I'm Matthew. I haven't actually met anyone as… friendly as you guys since this whole mess started…" Matthew had no idea what to say- how had he not known that this other group of three was in the town?

"Are you alone…?" Tino asked as a coo, like a mother coaxing a child to her for a hug. Matthew shifted nervously. Should he trust these people? Especially after seeing the power in that sharpshooter's shot… He forced himself to say the truth, the pure, honest truth. Vash could yell at him later if he really wanted to.

"Ah, no! I travel with two others- Vash and Lovino," The Canadian flustered. He briefly noticed that Eduard had wandered away and coaxed a pearl-haired person from between the bookshelf and the wall. He could only assume that this was Emil. If Emil had been behind the other bookshelf, though, that meant he had been able to watch both his mother hen and Eduard the entire time while also being able to see Matthew. Why hadn't Emil spoken up? He had been almost right next to him and the Canadian hadn't even noticed…

"Hm. Oh, you mean the Swiss guy and that hot-headed Italian? I didn't know that they had a third person," Eduard responded suddenly. A slight shudder rippled down Matthew's spine. How did they know…?

"How do you-"Matthew couldn't help but blurt out the thought. He was cut off, however, by the Finn, who was already answering his question.

"We spend quite a lot of time trying to hide from you guys, actually. We'd rather not get in a fight, especially with the amount of firearms they carry," Tino explained. No wonder Matthew had never known about these people- they actively hid. The Canadian was almost tempted to blurt out the fact that the firearms had no ammunition when he thought better of it.

"So you're Matthew?" Emil asked solemnly, his voice rather dark and lacking much emotion, "Have you met anyone named Lukas?" Matthew furrowed his brow at the question.

"Yes, my name is Matthew, but I haven't met a Lukas, my apologies," He answered bluntly but not without emotion, desperate to know why the sullen person would ask such a question. These people made no sense at all. It befuddled him and reminded him that he shouldn't go making friends. Reminded him of the five tally marks slashed into his heart. All the people who fall…

"Sorry about Emil. He's going through a bit of trauma since he lost his brother," Eduard explained with a sympathetic smile that was only on his face to mask a considerable amount of pain that he truly felt empathetically, "He asks that to everyone now."

"It isn't fair, though!" Emil's voice was a deathly quiet whine, "When I figured out I was adopted, I searched for my real family… I wasted my life searching… All I ever found was that I had one brother- nothing else. I was angry that I had no parents and so I wouldn't acknowledge that he was my kin. He spent his entire life trying to get me to call him his big brother and now he's gone and I'll never have the chance!" Several glassy tears ran silently down Emil's face as he wrapped his arms tightly around his shorter 'mother's' midsection and tucked his face into Tino's shoulder.

"He isn't usually like this, I swear," Tino admitted, "He usually only gets this clingy and emotional when he gets pushed into a situation that reminds him of Lukas…"

"You put him behind a bookcase," Eduard hissed into Tino's ear softly, "And told him you'd come back after your demonstration for him was over! Lukas left him behind a bookcase in their old house and said he'd come back on day two of the apocalypse and Lukas never came back! No doubt you triggered him!"

"Uh… Can I help with anything?" Matthew shifted awkwardly once more. Tino gave him a pained smile to Matthew as he held his 'baby', who was almost his age and quite a bit taller, and spoke with a concerned voice when he finally did speak.

"Ah, we'll be fine. He wears himself out after a few minutes. So all I can say is that you should probably go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before we so rudely interrupted, seeing as we've wasted enough of your time," Tino released a heavy sigh and clutched his 'baby's' willowy frame. Matthew felt a strong connection to the crying boy- it was like Vash. Vash, who wanted to travel to the west even though he had always secretly known that it was burnt wasteland. He wanted to find the person of the fourth tally- the one who had given him the tulips. Eduard stood idly by, heaving the occasional sigh as well. Matthew carried on his way and went about gathering canned goods and other foods that could essentially last forever. Still, the image of the crying Emil depressing over his brother struck Matthew too close to home and so he did the entire task with silent, pearly tears rimming his eyes. Every step he took dared them to fall, but they wouldn't. So he walked the streets, in tears of what life had become for this world, but unable to shed any of the precious water that came to his eyes. He supposed that was the curse of this ruined world.

 **~Groups~**

(As of now- they can and will change. Comments on each group's condition are posted underneath their respective group. Status updates on the groups occur every chapter, usually at the end. A guide to the survival quality will probably get written in an attached note to this at some point)

Suspect Group- Kiku, Arthur, Ivan

(Probably the least likely group to get along. They seem to be surviving)

Militia Group- Lovino, Vash, Matthew

(Strict rules and short temper help this group stay safe. They seem to be surviving)

Underestimated Group- Tino, Emil, Eduard

(Unexpected intellect and weapons knowledge keeps this group on their feet. They seem to be surviving)

Charter Group- Roderich, Lukas, Raivis

(A grudging agreement to protect one another binds this group. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Disarray Group- Alfred, Lars, Toris

(This group is in relative anarchy from disagreement, and are constantly at each other's throats. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)


	3. Chapter 3

Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter Three,

 **[Tally the Days]**

(Survival group(s) of focus during this chapter: Charter Group and Disarray Group)

(Warning: Mentions of characters who have died, as well as tiny mentions of characters I may or may not ship *cough cough*. Also, if comments about eating Raivis bother you, you might not want to read this. He doesn't actually get eaten, but it is a reoccurring suggestion and joke for some morbid comedic relief)

Roderich would've avoided joining up with the two others in his group if he had the choice at the time. The arguments that started between himself and Lukas were anything but musical and the sobbing Raivis gave as a response to both seemed to call zombies from miles away to chase them. He couldn't help but think he'd be much better off on his own; but the two needed his help. He did it for them- people he had no connections with and were all but unknown to him before the apocalypse left the world as a pile of debris. The reason they needed Roderich was clear, however. Despite his only real skill being music- which wasn't particularly necessary in the apocalyptic world- he had medical knowledge. His intelligence and strategizing helped keep them from zombie attacks although his kills in actual combat were severely lacking, as he had been born to a wealthy family and grown up with 'wholesome' activities like reading and playing the violin. He had never even fought with his siblings- even that would've counted for combat knowledge! It wasn't like the others knew much more about fighting, though. If they ever had to face a horde head on, they'd perish. Their hunger-weak bodies lacked nutrients from food and their throats were parched and cracking. Lukas's limp had only gotten worse. Lukas's limp. The main reason they needed Roderich- medical knowledge, after all. Lukas had a prosthetic leg- he had even before the apocalypse. He had lost his leg when he was young and his parents got into a car crash, causing his leg to need amputation. He had learned to walk on it over the years, but the wasteland the world had become was not kind to the handicap.

That was them. Roderich had joined because they needed his sharp wits to survive. Raivis trailed after them because he was weak. Very weak. He was a crybaby and had barely lasted a couple of days on his own. So Lukas had taken him under his wing with the promise that the second they saw another group, whether it be hostile or not, they would dump Raivis with that group and leave him. Raivis cried when he heard the agreement, but Raivis cried about everything. So the tiny Latvian- who was, in fact, not actually a child but a teenager, despite his looks- would be with them as a burden until they could dump him on someone else. Lukas felt he burdened the others, but wouldn't voice as much. He didn't voice much of anything, actually, with the exception of sarcastic or cynical remarks. The Norwegian was quite emotionless, but they could see his pain through his eyes and in his growing limp. Lukas would be only moderately useful if they got into a fight- his leg rendered his motion a bit crippled, but other than that he could do a bit of basic fist-fighting. Although he was nearly as intelligent as Roderich, he wouldn't let it show. He found it easier to be a bitter follower than an unqualified leader. So that was them. None of them could fight. So they struggled.

"Roderich, I'm stopping to rest. My leg can't take much more," Lukas wasn't asking for permission, he was letting Roderich know. He knew that Roderich wouldn't continue without him either way. He didn't need Raivis's permission- the smaller person curled at the base of a crumbled wall and tucked his knees to his chest as he rested in the shade. Roderich gave a grumble but sat upon a pile of rubble after wiping some offending rocks off of its surface so that he wouldn't be dirtied by sitting upon it. Lukas found it a silly thing, really. They were in the apocalypse and Roderich bothered wiping off some rocks from the rubble he sat on to make it more comfortable? Nothing was comfortable. They had all glanced at death and turned away but lived- it was an apocalypse. Worse yet, they had seen others fall to death- all three of them. It was a wonder Raivis didn't cry more, actually. He had watched his brother, Toris, perish as he tripped running and urged for his brother to go. It was something cliché. Something that was only supposed to happen in cheesy movies and novels. But it had happened to him, and so he was broken. Roderich's sister, Elizaveta, hadn't made it, either- neither had Roderich's boyfriend, Gilbert. At least they knew those people were dead. Lukas had known about the death of his boyfriend Matthias, but he had no idea where his brother was now- the thought haunting him, lurking in the corners of his vision. He remembered that night in its deathly clarity- the screams and him promising to come back, promising- So much pain. Too much pain to remember. He wanted to hold his brother, to protect his only family from the world like any sibling in his situation would. It wasn't an option, though.

"I see fire," Raivis whispered suddenly, his voice stunned but near emotionless as his little body trembled from fear. Briefly, the two slightly older ones of the group wondered if he had gone mad. But he hadn't. There was fire. They looked out across the plains in terror at what Raivis had spied before them. There it was- the tongues of golden flame rippling across the straw-like wheat. The beating daylight made the blaze difficult to see, but it was there, tendrils white-hot and eating away anything they leapt to. Confusion struck before they registered what they were seeing. This wasn't a wild, uncontrolled fire- it was a signal flame off to the side of the field, with green branches thrown on to make heavy, billowing clouds of smoke that painted the sky an ashen hue.

"People," Lukas nodded his head towards the smoke, "Zombies don't use fire," He looked back, questioning Roderich with his gaze and words, "They could have food, water. We haven't had that for days. They could kill us, too. They might try to eat Raivis,"

"Accurate. Even if they are pleasant, though, that smoke and firelight will attract the undead from miles absent. We must either go to them to get help or get killed or head in the opposite direction before the foul creatures start to turn up," Roderich identified their options, which had already seemed obvious, but hearing them aloud made their chances of survival seem slimmer. Raivis's trembling worsened, but still he stood up to join the other two, who had forgotten their break and looked around. They had no packs, no supplies. They'd starve or dehydrate in days if not sooner. Not a single weapon was owned by the group. At last, they seemed to come to a conclusion without too much arguing.

"Let's head to them. We wouldn't be able to escape or fight the undead that'll come because of that fire, even if we weren't hunger-weakened. The least they could do is help us. The most is kill us. It might be worth a shot," Lukas settled finally, and with that, they headed up the plains, all of them terrified in their own way. Lukas wondered whether they were brave or stupid, and so worried. Roderich found no aura in the air that would tell them of hospitality or murderous intent, and so worried. Raivis wondered how truthful Lukas had been about mentioning eating him, as well as the fact that the other two would likely ditch him here, and so worried. Basically, they were all a worried wreck- and rightly so. The group they approached may as well have been crazy, seeing as their forms of managing were less than efficient and humane. Let's just describe them like this right now:

The group by the odd fire was absolutely insane. The tall one would find a weapon and be casually travelling in broad daylight, daring any zombie or human to take him on when the blond with the glasses would show up to annoy him. They'd be at each other's throats in argument, very near to beating each other to death with whatever weapon the tall one had found when the brunette would show up and confiscate the weapon so neither could use it. While the brunette kept the weapon and the group carried on, the other two would still be at each other's throats, tempting the brunette to use the weapon on both of them. He would then discard the weapon in the river or a dumpster or something of the like so that he wouldn't be tempted to use it. The other two would freak out at the brunette for getting rid of the weapon and chase him off after hurting him considerably. Then the group would scatter and fall apart entirely until the tall one found another weapon. And then the cycle would repeat. They were all crazy. They had been the ones to burn the field, as a matter of fact- not just the small fire. It all happened when the brunette had discarded a lighter that the others had found as a weapon. The lighter broke and lit its own gas suddenly, causing the countryside to erupt in flames for miles and first drawing zombies to the small town-which had been prospering until that point. Like I said before- they may as well have been crazy. So, naturally, when Roderich, Lukas and Raivis arrive at the fire, exhausted, they didn't quite expect what they found. Or maybe they did expect it. They just hoped it wouldn't happen. The tall one insisted on introductions the second they entered the circle with the bonfire.

"Introduce yourselves, now. Give your name and any other notable information," The tall one commanded with a wave of his hand, a pipe in his mouth. Roderich and Lukas had second thoughts about coming here. Raivis looked ready to run, but the 15-year-old crybaby had Lukas's hand grasped tightly around his wrist to prevent him from doing so.

"Lukas. I have a prosthetic leg, but I can walk at normal pace for most of the time. I have a missing brother, my only surviving family. My… er… boyfriend… died," Lukas didn't seem all that thrilled with spilling any part of the information, but complied, as the tall man held a sizable butcher knife that looked terribly unpleasant to be sliced with. The blond with the glasses frolicked about the fire. The brunette had been chased off last night, and was somewhere within the field with his festering wounds from the knife.

"Hm. You, explain yourself," The tall one tilted his head towards Roderich, commanding once again. The spiky-haired, towering man was clearly a very dominating person, as shown by his stance and seemingly rather aggressive questioning. The bespectacled blond continued to skip about the fire, talking about some plan of killing all the zombies and being the hero. They ignored him.

"Roderich Edelstein. I am a former musician and halfway through medical school. My sister and fiancé have passed in this apocalypse. A pleasure to meet you," From the gravely tone in Roderich's voice, Lukas and the tall man could both tell that he was anything but glad. Still, Roderich gave a curt nod of respect. The tall man shifted on Raivis.

"You. Speak," He leaned down to near eye level, an intimidating air coming from his glassy stare. Raivis trembled further and fumbled over his words, but spoke at last, inching away from the man with the pipe ever-so-slightly.

"I-I'm Raivis Galante. These t-two found me and s-said they'd d-drop me off with the f-first other p-people we saw… M-my brother is g-gone…T-they s-said you m-might eat me," Raivis looked up with watery eyes, utterly pitiful. The tall man straightened his back and gave a tiny chuckle in response before extinguishing his pipe.

"Awfully spacey, aren't you?" The tall man seemed slightly amused with Raivis as he went back to pacing, his tattered scarf fluttering slightly in the wind, "We won't eat you, though." This caused the blond with the glasses to chime in.

"I don't know, he certainly does look tasty. Not quite as appetizing as a hamburger, but a bit donut-like," The blond was clearly messing with Raivis, but this caused the tiny Latvian to hide behind Lukas. Lukas pulled Raivis from out behind him and forced him to hold his ground with a firm grip. Raivis didn't bother struggling. The Norwegian startled slightly when it occurred to him how much Raivis was trembling, and how quickly his pulse beat.

"Excuse me, but we introduced ourselves. Please explain yourselves," Roderich cut in, slightly suspicious of this odd duo. The tall man stopped his pacing and seemed to think for a moment, his presence commanding respect, although he was a bit shady. Finally, the towering man seemed to decide on what he wanted to say and shifted to become a silhouette against the bonfire's firelight.

"Lars. The one I loved most was slaughtered when I left them, or so I've assumed," Lars's voice was ominous, cryptic almost, holding a deal of secrets as his face became invisible, fading into his jet-black silhouette in the evening light. The sky was a dazzlingly morbid blood-red behind him. When he at last turned back into the dying light, his features looked stark and sharp, but the reflection in his eyes held some sort of painful memory. He at last stepped from the silhouette and back completely into the dying light of the last drops of afternoon.

"I'm Alfred, and I'm the-"The blond began to shout before Lars clapped a hand over his mouth and hissed for him to speak more quietly. Alfred began to speak again, only a bit quieter than his piercing shout, "I'm Alfred, and I'm the hero…! I… lost my brother, or at least I think he's dead…" Alfred trailed off before wiping his eyes and they returned to their bright sparkle, "Heroes don't cry, though. So I won't cry about it."

"And it's just you two in your group?" Lukas pressed, anxious, voice a bit harsh. Maybe they had seen his brother. Maybe… He couldn't take their word for it, of course. There was a large chance that these people weren't to be trusted. Lars gave something between a scoff and a laugh.

"It's just us now, yes," That odd laugh again, "We aren't really a group. The other member ran off last night- a repeating process, really. We've been stuck in a vicious cycle, you see. He tossed out our other weapons _again_ , but luckily I kept an extra knife on me. I gave him a few slashes and he ran off. Probably bled out," He explained the process in further detail after he finished his words, from him finding weapons to Alfred bugging him to the brunette tossing them out and getting beaten into submission and leaving before rejoining later when they found more weapons to the cycle repeating seemingly endlessly.

"Why have you set a bonfire? You know it attracts the undead like an avian insect to a lantern, correct?" Roderich questioned, glancing nervously to make sure of the fact that they were alone and that rotting, reanimated humans wouldn't come after them at any second.

"Ah, bro, relax! Zombs die in fire, so all we have to do is make this big buncha' flames here, get as many zombies as we can to come, then set the whole field aflame! Foolproof! Ba-Bam! And _I'm_ the hero!" Alfred exclaimed, punching the air. Lars hissed under his breath that the flame had been his idea, and in moments they had to be pried away from each other's throats, which they attempted to strangle. Lars's knife nearly jabbed through Alfred's windpipe before they hauled them away from each other. Both were, not surprisingly, strong, and so the task was difficult, but accomplished.

"So you're the ones who burned the entire countryside?" Lukas forced the question upon them. Lars gave a shrug and turned away, so Lukas spoke again "Explain your third member. Who was he?

"If you'd like to take it that way, yes, we burnt the countryside. Really, it was more of an accident that time- our third member confiscated from us a lighter and the rest is history. It did, however, inspire our plan," Lars went back to pacing, back and forth, back and forth. The repetition was almost painful. His sharp eyes flickered over their unsteady line, "Sit and eat. We expect payment for our hospitality, however. You don't need to know about the third member- he's almost certainly dead."

"Your third member who you sliced to ribbons could've been my brother! It _is_ my right to know!" Lukas almost snarled at the alarmingly calm and yet haughtily aggressive Lars. Lars gave that laugh again- the one that sent shivers down all of their spines.

"That brunette could've been anyone's brother," He answered absentmindedly, still motioning for them to sit. He tucked his knife into his pocket and sat down to recline against a log that he had brought up to the fire.

"Brunette? Oh…" Lukas knew it couldn't have been his brother- his brother had dyed his hair a snowy silver, and always insisted on keeping it that color. The dye wouldn't have worn out yet, and even if it did, Emil was almost strawberry blond beneath it. Certainly not brunette. Lukas was just sitting down, attempting to relax and think of a payment for these people when Raivis's quiet voice came to the air.

"What was h-his name? T-the third person," Raivis tried to keep his voice even, tried to be brave- tried to manage a voice stronger than Lars's. He failed, as always. It came out less stuttered, but no louder or stronger than usual. It took all of his energy to keep his heart from aching. Lars might've killed Toris.

"You really need to know, boy? Fine. It was Toris. He had some sort of Baltic blood in him, and he wasn't too tall. Nervous, weak. Reminds me of you, really," Lars didn't bother putting two and two together to make the connection that Toris was Raivis's brother. He couldn't care less for the family relation- Toris was most likely bleeding out in the field. There was nothing for Raivis but a corpse if he looked for him, or at least that's what the chances were in the favor of.

"…You killed my brother…" Raivis's voice glistened with disbelief and his eyes shimmered with fresh tears. Alfred gave a squawk, clapping the Latvian on the back, as he had been standing behind him.

"Oh, come on! I'm sure he isn't dead, bro. I mean, Lars is a bitch, but he isn't _that_ evil!" Alfred's words were easily blocked from Raivis's head as he crumpled to his knees, pushing away the food and water that he had only half finished- given to him by the duo. Lukas and Roderich prepared for a crying fit, shutting their ears as they continued to pick at their food- not without grief and mistrust, but because it was necessary to eat and drink.

"…M-monster," Raivis sobbed, salty tears running down his hands, which he put over his face. His heart felt shot, torn. He wasn't crying over nothing- not like those other times. He had grown up having a hard life. He was bullied at school. His parents pushed him too hard to get good grades. But Toris had always helped him through it. Always. When he needed a shoulder to cry on, Toris wasn't embarrassed. He would just let Raivis cry himself out, then he'd tell Raivis that everything would be okay. And then it was. But now he wasn't safe. He had lost his playmate, mentor, family, teacher, and support in that moment, since they were all one person. He had no reason to force the tears away like he had always tried to do. He let them flow like salty streams, his mind shattered. He wouldn't see his brother again. The next time they could play and talk was once Raivis died. He just wanted to hide, for everything to go…

"He would've died anyway- this is the apocalypse. Consider it a favor, Raivis," Lars stared off into the firelight, voice more blunt than a brick. His eyes held no pity or mercy. He had gone through loss. Raivis could too. The tiny Latvian would walk that path, the path of the lonely- just as Lars had. Night had settled in, and so now the bonfire was lighter than the sun, crackling with warmth. There was still no sign of zombies. They sat there in silence save for Raivis's never-ending wails, none daring to make the teen more upset. Raivis had been robbed of a childhood early. Very early. So he was a crybaby as a teen. But he had a reason to cry, more than a reason to cry… And so no one dared silence him. Even Alfred didn't speak.

It was late. All were convinced that Raivis had fallen asleep, as his whimpers had died down to near nothing. But he wasn't asleep. The short teen stood among the sitting group. He strode to Lars, fear, desperation and a blazing anger flaring up within his soul and eyes. He stood over the sitting Lars, who didn't react in the slightest bit or show that he noticed Raivis, as his mouth was level and his eyes were a glazed, misty shade, glassed over with the ghosts of memories. He finally looked up at Raivis, a slight curiosity quirking one of his eyebrows.

"Murderer," Raivis mumbled, giving Lars a harsh kick in the side and preparing to dart. As Raivis went to run, however, Lars snagged his ankle. He was brought to the ground as he began to bolt, and was left face-first in the dirt. He kicked out to rid his ankle of Lars's grip. Lukas, Roderich and Alfred had no time to stand, never-mind intervene, as Raivis's kick missed Lars's arm and his foot kicked at a piece of flaming wood within the bonfire instead. He drew his foot away with a scream, scrambling to his feet. Luckily, he was not badly burnt or set aflame. Unluckily, the wood had fallen. It lit the log Lars had previously rested against aflame. Lars was quick to avoid injury, and snuffed out a tiny tongue of flame that scorched his scarf. It wasn't too late for any of the people, but their supplies perished. The blaze jumped from item to item, catching fire and turning it all into crispy ashes. And then the fire leapt to the grass and the wheat.

"What the hell have you done…?" No one was quite sure who spoke as they stood back, away from the wall of flame that consumed the grassland. It was run or burn. Every last person scattered in a different direction, leaping through swaths of flames that now whipped across the only remaining wheat-field and blew choking smoke down their throats. They were right. If there was any way to make something more hellish than it already was, this was it. An accident. That's how the other fire had been set. Well, they say you learn from mistakes. Apparently not. The whole field was consumed in gold, and the smog and heat was enough to scar throats and melt flesh. White barriers of light burned their vision in the form of dazzlingly bright fire. Maybe this was the end. Raivis cried all over again. _What have I done?_


	4. Extra Note (Please read)

Hetalia Zombie!AU Extra Note

 **[Tally the Days]**

(This is not a chapter. This is an Extra Note)

First part of the note: No, no one dies in this fanfiction. Everyone keeps thinking that everyone is dead. No one dies, though. That would hurt my emotions too much, since I _am_ writing this to help _cope_ , although I do write death fanfiction sometimes. But this isn't a death fanfiction. Plenty of people are _already dead_ in this series, ranging from Elizaveta and Gilbert to Mathias. Sad. I know. But I won't kill anyone who is in the story, deal? Oh, and, sadly, if a character doesn't appear in this series, it means that they died in the apocalypse. Yes, I acknowledge that there is no Lilli and yet Vash isn't upset- they weren't siblings in this, and frankly never knew each other. But Lilli did die. I'm really sorry, but that's just how it went. Now let's get onto the lighter side of this note. Okay, so it isn't too much lighter- it's just very logistical and emotionless.

Okay! So, at this point a lot of my readers are probably wondering what's with the group descriptions. Not the group descriptions, exactly- just the end statements. You know, the 'They seem to be surviving with difficult' and 'They seem to be surviving fairly well' stuff. I'll explain that now. There's a Survival Quality Scale (I'll call it the SQS) that I created to judge the groups based upon. It runs from a 4 to a negative 4, with 4 being the best quality of life and negative four being the worst. At the very end of Tally the Days, I'll add up all of their scores along the scale and whoever has the highest score wins! (Of course, negatives count against the score) Yeah. It really goes like that. It doesn't mean everyone else dies or anything like that- it just means that they survived the most efficiently. The scale is judged mostly based on injuries, food supply, water supply, emotional well-being, as well as weapon supply, weapons knowledge, distance from zombies, etc… Just survival stuff. Each number is signaled by a statement. The numbers and their corresponding statements are below:

4 - They are clearly thriving

3 - They are managing quite well

2 - They are in relatively good condition

1 - They seem to be surviving fairly well

0 - They seem to be surviving

-1 - They seem to be surviving with difficulty

-2 - They are in relatively horrible condition

-3 - They are barely managing to get by

-4 - They are clearly perishing

Please note that all of those statements are _relative_ \- if I was doing this normally, it would routinely be -3s and -4s. But then no one would have any points. So I'm not doing that; I'm judging it _relative_ to survival conditions in a zombie apocalypse. Meaning '0' is the average in the apocalypse. So 'They seem to be surviving' doesn't really mean all that much for their condition. It is incredibly unlikely anyone will get a 4 or a -4, by the way. -4 is literally at death's door. 4 is like a normal life before the apocalypse. Since I promised not to kill off characters, I can't really get away with -4s. Since it would be boring if everything was normal, I'll be mean and keep everyone from getting 4s.

Okay! This is the last part of the note (if you're still reading right now, I admire your patience a lot). I know all of you probably said something along the lines of 'what?' when I first introduced Emil, or a lot of the other characters, for that matter. I know a lot of them are OOC (out of character). This is for one of these reasons:

-It was done on purpose, since tragic events like apocalypses _change_ _people_

-I'm an idiot and am horrible at writing personalities

-They're actually their 2P form (*shot down*)

The 2P one is a joke. I most likely _won't_ include the 2Ps in Tally the Days. If they _do_ come in, though, they'll be separate people. But the first two are very true. Some personalities I altered for a reason- others I'm just terrible at writing (*cough* Lukas *cough*). So if you still enjoy the story this way, great! If you don't, you don't have to read it, simple as that! Reviews are very uch appreciated, and if anyone would like to point out more things I'm doing incorrectly, don't be afraid to put it in a review or PM me! Flames will be used to burn the zombies (using Alfred and Lars's oh-so-genius philosophy)


	5. Chapter 4

Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter Four,

 **[Tally the Days]**

(Survival group(s) of focus during this chapter: Underestimated Group and Militia Group)

 **~Groups~**

(As of now- they can and will change. Comments on each group's condition are posted underneath their respective group. Status updates on the groups occur every chapter, usually at the end)

Suspect Group- Kiku, Arthur, Ivan

(Probably the least likely group to get along. They seem to be surviving)

Militia Group- Lovino, Vash, Matthew

(Strict rules and short temper help this group stay safe. They seem to be surviving)

Underestimated Group- Tino, Eduard, Raivis

(Unexpected intellect and weapons knowledge keeps this group on their feet. They seem to be surviving)

Charter Group- Roderich, Lukas

(A grudging agreement to protect one another binds this group. They seem to be surviving)

Disarray Group- Alfred, Lars

(This group is in relative anarchy from disagreement, but they stay together out of necessity. They seem to be surviving)

Phoenix Group- Feliks, Toris

(This group was created from a rescue from flame and the two, who had previously only known each other due to highschool, learn to form trust. They seem to be surviving with difficulty.)

Currently Solitary- Emil

(Emil- Left Underestimated Group to find Charter Group. Solos do not get survival scores)

Tino about jumped out of his skin when he heard the whimpering. Eduard stood behind him, whispering something about survival chances. Tino was forced to hold up a finger for silence. The duo of best friends had left Emil at their little camp out in an abandoned office. They had chosen the location as their hideout because the office building- despite being small as office buildings go- was the second tallest building in the entire town. And it wasn't even that tall. Either way, the one-way glass windows protected them from outside eyes and the elevation let them see the streets all over the town. But the most important trait of their hideaway was its positioning when compared to the parking garage the others in the town hid in; it was higher up and positioned so that they could see all three floors of the garage and Tino could easily snipe through the open-air windows of the garage from the office roof if need be. Unfortunately, last time they left Emil behind he ran off and they had to catch him before he got himself killed. So this time they made sure to lock him in quite well- confined to one room. Emil didn't appreciate it one bit; but they couldn't risk his life for his comfort. The duo inched closer to the alley the noise came from, and Eduard pinpointed its location to behind a dumpster at the very back.

"Is someone there?" Tino called in a soft, motherly voice. The sound in the alley continued to whimper and sob. Naturally, it couldn't be a zombie- who had ever heard of a crying zombie? No intelligible response reached their ears save for even more weeping, "We won't hurt you, we promise."

"Tino, this could be a trap," Eduard glanced nervously around as he lingered at the entrance to the alley while Tino paced into the alley. The Fin lowered himself onto his knees beside a shadowy shape and took the shape by the hand, helping it to stand.

"Shh, Eduard, you might scare him," Tino whispered as a response, helping the fifteen-year-old boy from the alley to his feet. Immediately, the trembling, crying boy fell back to his knees at the entrance to the alley. Eduard kneeled beside the teen who was only two years younger than himself and checked for the source of the boy's pain. There it was. And they thought Emil had been going crazy last night when he shook them awake and told them there was fire. Eduard rolled up the teen's pants to his kneecaps with gentle hands and gasped. The teen's legs were scorched and blackened- first degree burns. Most burns didn't make it to first degree, but luckily it hadn't been worse. Eduard looked up at Tino.

"I have an old first aid kit back at the base- we'll have to carry him there," Eduard gave a nod up at Tino, who helped the Estonian to lift the small teen. When Eduard spoke like he just had, there was no joking. They knew that although the teen was small, they'd never be able to get him all the way to the office room without breaks. Breaks risked them being caught by the other group in the area- the group that seemed less than friendly and still hadn't left the area. They made it halfway to the building before setting the boy down to get a bit of rest in the shade of a grove of trees in the town park. The small teen still trembled.

"It's okay, we'll help," Tino reassured the teenager with a weak smile and a deep sigh. Eduard shifted to sit next to the injured boy, "What's your name..?"

"R-Raivis. Raivis Galante," Raivis stuttered out, trying to curl into a ball for protection but unable to because of the pain from his legs at the motion. He looked up with curious, tear-dampened eyes between the two others, "W-What are y-your names?"

"I'm Tino, and the handsome one here is Eduard," Wait. _Handsome? Had the one called Tino just call the other handsome?_ Raivis looked up quizzically. He realized with a start that he must've said what was on his mind.

"W-what? Eduard and I are best friends! He _is_ handsome, but I wouldn't say that!" Tino exclaimed suddenly. Raivis realized that _he_ had been the one to add the comment from earleir in his head. Tino hadn't said any such thing at all- Raivis had imagined it. Eduard and Raivis wore matching blushes- flushing pink and averting their gazes from each other. Eduard brushed a hair out of his face and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Maybe we should get you back to our camp and fix you up- I think you could be a bit traumatized," Eduard gave an awkward smile and scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. At last, they lifted Raivis once more and began to carry the small teen towards the office building. Raivis seemed exhausted from fear and slumped in their arms, although still quite tense. The Latvian mumbled something under his breath. Upon trying to hear what he was saying, the duo realized that he was crying again. Both only sighed in sympathy and finished up the office stairs. Reopening the door from how they had boarded it proved to be a challenge, but Emil had done half of the job for them when he had been testing to see if he could escape. They entered and set Raivis down on the desk. Tino searched the paper-strewn room desperately as Eduard instructed on where his first aid kit was. At last, the Fin found the case and came back with it. Emil was flustered, asking what they were doing and why they brought a kid back with them.

"Why is the kid here?" Emil demanded for the umpteenth time, not quite pushy- just incredibly curious. Eduard had cleared the desk and set the papers in stacks on the carpeted, sawdust covered floor as Tino explained what little they knew of the kid to Emil. Raivis cried quietly, eyes shut tightly. He whispered something about never wanting friends or family ever again. At last, he spoke clearly enough for the others to hear well.

"H-Have y-you guys s-seen a brown-haired t-teenager w-with blue e-eyes pass through t-town?" Raivis managed, lying almost limp against the desk on his side. Tino, Eduard and Emil looked back and forth between each other for a moment before anyone responded, uneasy. A slight draft came through the room from a smashed section of the window barely large enough to reach an arm through. The breeze swirled slightly, swift and dancing as it fluttered the papers around the room like inanimate butterflies. A potted, wilted fern in the corner of the room perked up and fell in the breeze before stopping abruptly to hang dead once more.

"We saw someone like that, yes. He had a cut across his leg and couldn't walk- probably a tiny rip in his ACL. He was stranded in the field, but we couldn't go to help him because the other group in this town was out searching for us. We saw him yesterday, but there's no way he survived the fire last night," Emil explained blankly before adding, "Why?" All of them froze when they saw the terror that painted Raivis's face a deathly white. His trembling increased tenfold and a sob pierced the air and he coiled into a ball despite the agony it caused his burnt legs. His hands dug their nails into his own sides and his knuckles paled. Another echoing wail sounded and yet the three were still petrified into stillness, despite the fact that the wails could draw zombies and people from a while away. At last, Raivis sobbed an answer to the 'why'.

"He w-was m-my brother…! I-I accidently s-set the f-fire and I… I-I killed him! I… I k-killed Toris…!" Raivis writhed across the desk despite everything. Tino and Emil were quick to hold him down to prevent him from re-opening his burns. Raivis struggled and shouted, tears salting his face and causing his eyes to be glassy and red. It took a very long time for him to stop.

"He could've survived, Raivis. We can go find your brother once you get better," Tino tried to stay calm, although his nerves were on edge with the thought of how many people and zombies had probably flocked to them at the noise. Raivis gave a mumbled, inaudible answer and curled once more on the desk. Emil looked the kid up and down, his own eyes misty but not allowing tears to come.

"Raivis. Have you met anyone called Lukas…?" Emil personally empathized with the teenager. The situation with his own brother… being abandoned behind the bookshelf and getting promised that Lukas would be back for him but instead he ran after waiting for a very long time, only to discover that Lukas _had_ returned to the hiding place of Emil only to find Emil gone… Raivis gave a sigh and looked up with sore eyes.

"I-Is Lukas b-blond with b-blue eyes? K-kind of e-emotionless, a b-bit taller t-than you?" Raivis asked in response. He remembered a Lukas from Charter Group- the Norwegian man. Emil startled and stood after giving a nod, a shimmering look in his eyes with a breathing fast and fierce enough to suggest that he was about to bolt out of the room.

"Where did you see him last?! Is he okay?!" Emil pressed for answers, a burning passion unfolding itself. He needed to see his brother again. Raivis gave a weak nod to the second question and managed to give a whisper.

"H-he ran from the f-fire w-with Roderich, a-another person… T-they went t-towards the forest," He choked out. Raivis let his head flop back to the wood, utterly energy-less from crying and lack of food and water. It was only moments before Emil darted down the hall, as quick as a bird. His tattered jacket blew behind him from his speed and dust wafting in the sun was scattered from his path. Tino and Eduard both startled, but Raivis was too exhausted to notice.

"Hey! Emil! Get back here, you don't even know where you're going!" Tino shouted as Eduard and he both burst into the hallway, but Emil had already gotten a fourth of the way down the stairs. Tino ran to the roof stairs while Eduard went back to keep an eye on Raivis and bite his lip as he glanced anxiously out the window. It was less than a minute before Emil burst out onto the street with Tino watching him from the roof, waving his arms desperately but not daring to shout. They usually avoided the roof because of the visibility it granted from the parking garage, but they needed it now. He slung his rifle and blasted a dent in a street sign twelve feet from Emil to get him to notice, but the Icelander didn't so much as turn. Tino watched with regret as Emil fled down an alley and was gone, off towards the smoldering fields and nearly unburnt forest. The Fin trailed back down the stairs from the roof and back to the room in defeat, slumping on a broken radiator he used as a seat. Eduard gave a sigh and didn't bother asking. Raivis took a deep breath and whispered an apology. Both Tino and the Estonian knew it wasn't really Raivis's fault and accepted his apology, although they were now terribly worried about the unarmed Emil running off alone with no supplies. Especially due to the threat of another group being in the area, they knew they couldn't go off and follow him, even if Raivis wasn't wounded. It would be a _long_ evening.

Several weak attempts at conversation were offered, but none particularly stuck, although enough basic questions were asked so that they knew who each other were. Raivis uncurled and started to stand only to notice that his burns broke from their scabs in his thrashing when he had went into a crying fit over Toris. Blood stained his pants as the burns welled with blood and peeled up around the edges with bits of puss and burnt flesh. Tino had fallen asleep on the broken radiator, so Eduard jumped a bit when he saw the movement of Raivis attempting to stand over some papers he had been reading. Although none of the others there found interest in the papers strewn on the floor, the Estonian found the stock market reports and income articles quite interesting and read them to pass time. Quickly, Eduard rushed to Raivis and forced him to lay back down on the desk, back to the desk and stomach facing up.

"It hurts, Eduard," Raivis winced back pain. Eduard realized that in their haste to deal with Emil, they had forgotten to patch and disinfect the Latvian's teen's wounds. Eduard opened the first aid kit and searched through for various supplies that could help. There wasn't much in the kit, but they had some antiseptic, as well as some bandages. It wasn't the _best_ for the situation, but it would help. Eduard debated how to go about stopping the bleeding and dressing Raivis's burns, eyeing the situation like a mathematical equation- analytical. Yeah. Analytical; that's what you could call Eduard. He knew he'd need some fabric to stop the bleeding- he wouldn't use perfectly sterile bandages for that. Bandages prevented wounds from reopening- they didn't stop bleeding. Gauze helped with bleeding. But because it was helpful, they obviously didn't have it. Funny how that works.

"I'll stop the bleeding, then I'll clean it out with antiseptic. It might sting a bit, but you should be okay. After that, I'll bandage the area and get you some food and water to calm your nerves," Eduard told Raivis, although he was mostly just going over the procedure to himself. Raivis gave a tiny nod. Eduard spoke again, "I'll need you to take your pants off so I can stop the burns on your thighs from bleeding, too. Otherwise I can only reach the ones by your calves."

"W-what?" Raivis squeaked, but did as asked. It was for medical reasons, after all. Raivis startled further when Eduard took off his shirt- leaving him wearing only his undershirt on his upper half- and used a letter opener on the desk to break several seams before using it to cut the shirt into neat strips. He then proceeded to gently press the strips of shirt against Raivis's wounds so that they would soak up the blood and help the bleeding stop. His motions were natural and yet mechanical in their efficiency, his hands working methodically with a great amount of precision. Raivis shifted a bit and bit his lip in the slight pain the touch caused, but let Eduard apply the torn shirt across his legs. Internally, Raivis wondered what Eduard would do if the burns ever broke open again and required more fabric to stop their bleeding, as he was already down to an undershirt. Raivis pushed the odd thought from his head when a searing sting shot up his leg and he barely suppressed a shout.

"Sorry, I should have told you I was starting to work with the antiseptic," Eduard gave a sympathetic smile as he dapped at the wound with the stinging fluid once more. Raivis grit his teeth and kept his eyes shut tight until all of the burns were finished. Finally, Eduard bandaged the cleaned burns after cutting away a bit of burnt, dead skin with the letter opener and cleaning those as well. The process used all of their bandages, and Raivis felt guilty for everything these people had done for him and the lack of help he had given them in return. Raivis pulled his pants back over his cold legs and looked up at Eduard to give a quick nod.

"T-Thanks, Eduard!" Raivis managed, sitting up on the desk. Eduard gave a light chuckle.

"No problem. Lay down or you'll reopen those burns, though. I'll go get some food and water for you," Eduard started to go to the cold closet where they stashed their food when Raivis caught his wrist as he passed.

"P-Please don't go, Eduard. T-Too many p-people go and don't come back," Raivis's eyes took on the teary, innocent look that they had within their depths when they had first found him. Eduard gave a sigh and sat down beside Raivis for a moment silently before scooping Raivis up in his arms and carrying him to the closet and getting the food. Raivis gave some sort of protest that this situation wasn't what he meant but Eduard just shrugged it off with a charming smile. Raivis knew that Eduard couldn't carry him easily, which was even more guilt-inducing. Eduard carried him anyways, the way to the closet and back, although his arms strained. Setting Raivis back on the desk, he passed him some food and water and then went to wake Tino. All of them sat together on the desk, warming up to each other a bit more even though the day was becoming colder outside as the sun's shape- a golden coin in the sky- began to lower to the height of the horizon, disappearing bit by bit before becoming a blazing disc as the last bit started to sink. They all realized that although they were so horribly alone in this now terrifying world, they had each other beneath the warmth of the sun. Life was still possible, however hard.

"The sunset sure is pretty this evening," Tino's words sounded so oddly… normal… that it surprised the others. This moment felt like one before the apocalypse; almost worry-free and peaceful.

"Yeah, sure is," Eduard gave a response, and the three just sat for a moment watching the sun go, arms over each-other's shoulders. Something warm was in each of their chests- a sense of security. Tonight, they were almost… safe. They were almost what you might call happy.

It was morning. All three woke, Tino on the broken radiator, Eduard on the floor and Raivis on the desk. The Fin had curled on the radiator late, it seemed, as the other two had remembered all of them falling asleep sitting on the desk. Apparently, Tino hadn't thought it comfortable enough and moved. Also, at some point during the night Raivis had sprawled over the desk, stretching, and kicked Eduard off and onto the floor. At first, the duo of best friends was confused as to why the third person with them was not Emil. Raivis was bewildered by the fact that he wasn't still in the alley. In less than several minutes, all of the events had come back and another invisible grain of sand dropped from the top of the hourglass and into the bottom in their minds as if to say ' _It's been another day. One more day closer to the hourglass running out. That's all you know, though. Are there two more on the top or two thousand? Your guess…'_ The odd hourglass hung in their minds, tally marks of the days they'd survived hanging in their minds like ghosts. Tendrils of the hourglass and tallies faded as if they had been genuine fog as the three cleared their heads.

"Everyone listen. I heard something," Tino suddenly perked up, senses coming to life. The next instant, the others heard it, too. Shuffling. Zombies. But how? Zombies typically couldn't open doors or climb stairs or even- But there they were. Down the hall, two grotesque figures appeared, blocking their only way to the stairwell and escape. Panic came in a quick surge and they all mentally cursed themselves as they rushed to board the door with the same boards they had used to seal in Emil. At least they hadn't woken alter than they did. It seemed that the zombies detected their motion and turned their way, mauled faces dripping crimson goo of blood and tissue and empty eye sockets facing towards them. Raivis barely kept from whimpering, shrieking or crying. Tino fumbled with his rifle in his nervousness, but succeeded in loading it- as it hadn't been loaded before. The Fin was able to fire one shot into the left zombie's head before Eduard finally got the door closed and boarded. Now they were trapped in the room.

The shuffling came closer and closer, now only one set of bony footsteps. The left zombie had been rendered dead- or 'ReDead'- by the bullet that had destroyed its brain. They all backed away from the door as one, Tino with his rifle still trained on the door nervously as the zombie reached the door and began trying to claw at the oak wood surface, attempting to tear at the knob. But the boards held. That was when it dawned on Eduard that their food supply was still in the closet, as well as their water supply. The zombie had cornered them in the room without resources. Of course, if they could open the door quickly without getting mauled, Tino could easily shoot the zombie down. But opening the door wasn't an option- not with the zombie scratching at it in a futile attempt to get to the inhabitants. The zombie would never get in. But they could never get out until it left. Also, take into account that the zombie could purposely stop making noise for a while so that they open the door, then easily slaughter at least one of them. So they were screwed. It came to their surprise when a shout came from the hallway and the zombie by the door fell in 'ReDead'ness. Raivis whimpered. Eduard's breath was uneven and quick. Tino fought to keep himself from shaking. It wasn't long before a decently sized knife made several well-placed cuts, breaking the barricade. A Swiss man, flanked by and Italian and the familiar Canadian, entered. The knife was held by the Italian, who dropped it in surprise at seeing the three people in the corner of the room. And one of those three people had a loaded rifle pointed right at his chest. Although Eduard and Tino had only ever seen Vash and Lovino from afar, they knew all too well that they had short tempers and weapons. But they had met Matthew. And Matthew knew fully well that his crew had no loaded guns, and that Tino was an expert marksman. The Canadian put his hands up and stepped in the way of the rifle.

"Please lower the rifle, Tino," His voice was almost inaudible. The Fin shifted and began to lower the barrel of the gun slowly. Lovino crouched and picked up the black-bladed butcher knife carefully before standing once more.

"Tino lowered his gun. Keep the knife on the floor," Eduard fought to keep his voice level as he addressed the opposite group. Lovino and Vash looked between each other and didn't oblige to Eduard's request, instead questioning Matthew's statement.

"Tino? You know their names? You know these people?" The two hotheads spoke in unison, addressing the Canadian that stood between what was essentially a dark-bladed machete and a loaded rifle.

"I saw them once," Matthew admitted softly.

"And you never told us," Vash pressed.

"No, I never told you," Matthew's voice dropped even more in volume. Everyone strained to hear, tense and braced. Silent tears pricked Raivis's eyes.

"Why not, snow jerk?" Lovino commanded the Canadian, although he _had_ agreed to Eduard's request and dropped the knife.

"I didn't know that you needed to know…?" Matthew's tiny peep of a voice was half a whisper, nearly sounding like a question as its pitch raised from worry.

"Ignore him, Lovino. He'll be passive-aggressive towards us if he wants to. Who are you people, and why have we never seen you?" Vash turned his steely gaze on the group that huddled near the window.

"We're just trying to survive. We hid because we thought you'd kill us," Tino responded, shifting uncomfortably as if the gaze Vash trained on them was fire. Eduard pushed his glasses further up on his nose. Raivis leaned against the taller Estonian for support, utterly collapsed from just the energy it took to stand with his burns.

"Who was the silver haired one that ran last evening, then?" Lovino sneered. Tino gulped. _They didn't hurt Emil, did they?_ Eduard shifted this time before responding, but not without a bit of stuttering- although Raivis's stuttering still put Eduard's to shame.

"He was with us. He ran, looking for someone," Eduard kept his explanation as vague as possible, not wanting to put anyone in danger, although a vague description, he supposed, could endanger them as well.

"Who, bastards? Who was he looking for?" Lovino commanded. Tino felt his hand flicker towards the sleek wood of his rifle before pausing.

"Lukas, his brother," Tino let out a sigh. The next behavior of the group near the door was surprising. They turned to leave. Vash let out a mutter.

"So it wasn't Lars…?" The Swiss man bit his lip and turned to follow the others. Raivis finally spoke up.

"I-I know w-who Lars is," Raivis spoke quietly and simply, but everyone heard him in the tense silence. They all turned to the fifteen-year-old Latvian.

"Where is he? Please. I need to know," Vash's voice was nearly a begging whisper, as if speaking the words pained him. Matthew's eyes were wistful, as if thinking of the person he missed as well. Lovino grit his teeth.

"H-He ran. T-Towards the city. W-with a p-person called A-Alfred," Raivis responded. Vash and Matthew had fled from the room before one could blink, heading out of the building and in the direction of the city. Lovino trailed behind them desperately. They would both find the people they cared for after all. The three in the building let out a heavy sigh in unison.


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for how short this chapter is! I just really wanted to get it to a closing point so I could at least post something. Sorry once again, I've been very busy! I promise more soon!_

* * *

Hetalia Zombie!AU Chapter Five,

 **[Tally the Days]**

(Survival group(s) of focus during this chapter: Phoenix Group and Militia Group)

 **~Groups~**

(As of now- they can and will change. Comments on each group's condition are posted underneath their respective group. Status updates on the groups occur every chapter, usually at the end)

Suspect Group- Kiku, Arthur, Ivan

(This group has head out into the field once more with their supplies, and is camping in a barn for the time being. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Militia Group- Lovino, Vash, Matthew

(This group searches for the ones they've lost, making a steady pace towards the city. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Underestimated Group- Tino, Eduard, Raivis

(Injury prevents this group from moving as of now, but they seem to have the town to themselves. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Charter Group- Roderich, Lukas

(The two that escaped the fire continue, although they secretly wonder for the safety of the member they couldn't find after the flames as they head through the forests. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Disarray Group- Alfred, Lars

(These two fled in the same direction from the blaze in the plains, and are near the city. They seem to be surviving with difficulty)

Phoenix Group- Feliks, Toris

(This group was created from a rescue from flame and the two, who had previously only known each other due to highschool, learn to form trust as they hide in the city. They seem to be surviving with difficulty.)

Currently Solitary- Emil

(Emil- Left Underestimated Group to find Charter Group. Solos do not get survival scores)

Toris woke with a heavy wince, dragging himself into a sitting position only to howl at the intense pain that rippled down his limbs. He fell back down with a thwack and took a labored breath, his thoughts muddy and thick as if they were coated in slag from the fire. Right. The fire. His leg had been injured by his old group as he lay in the field, and the fire had been started. There was no hope of him running. He had passed out from the smoke, which had burned his eyes and- No. The images were blurry and yet all too vivid. Utterly painful, more so than his physical wounds. _How… How am I alive?_ Toris struggled to open his eyes and gazed at his charred body with morbid curiosity, his skin flaking and charred. _This isn't possible… I couldn't escape the fire- I should be… dead._ His thoughts felt sour, the words within the thoughts bitter to his mind's taste.

"Tor! I, like, totally haven't seen you since before this hell started! For a second there I was unsure if you'd, like, wake up or not!" Feliks, a cheerful, blond, Polish teen, bounced over to where Toris lay. The Lithuanian noticeably startled and a shudder ran through his body at the volume of the words. Feliks noticed this and lowered his voice, but it only lasted for a second, "You O.K?"

"I… I don't really know," Toris breathed, finally able to sit up and look around, "Where a-am I?" His gaze flitted curiously over the room. Feliks gave a tiny grin and skipped away to flick on the lights. This place had working electricity. _Impressive_. The excited blond came back a moment later, once the entire area had lit up save for a corner where the florescent lightbulbs had shattered.

"I totally saved you from that fire! You passed out and I decided you were kind of cute so I went to save you and well I recognized you were this one guy who sat in front of me in Study Hall and I was totally embarrassed but I, like, couldn't leave you to die so I picked you up and I mean I can't carry you or anything I just had a car so I drove us to the city and tried to fix you up here," Feliks's words had little punctuation and were rushed and difficult to understand. Toris supposed that Feliks was worse with strangers than he had previously thought. _Kind of cute? Sitting behind me in Study Hall? A car? The city?_ Toris's thoughts spun and he was forced to lay down once more. Feliks hovered over him, searching his eyes.

"Where is 'here'?" The brunette asked at last with a deep sigh. Feliks sat back and looked confused before answering.

"Oh! This is a shoe warehouse in the city. It doesn't have any windows and all the doors have multiple bolts on them so I thought this would be a totally great base!" The Polish blond cheered a bit too loudly once more, but Toris supposed he would get used to it eventually. _Of course Feliks would choose a shoe warehouse._ Another sigh. _Wait. Feliks? Yeah. His name is Feliks. I mean, that WAS the name of that guy who sat behind me in study hall, right? Yeah._ Toris struggled to control his thoughts. He was disoriented and confused from lack of blood, food, and sleep. He closed his eyes, about to attempt drifting off to sleep, when a harsh poke to his cheek sent his eyes fluttering open.

Feliks jabbed his cheek again with the object, and Toris looked to see what it was. Pocky. Of course. Toris hesitantly took the piece he was offered and ate it delicately and slowly. It was still food, he supposed. I mean, not _real_ food- a snack, really- but maybe it would help to stifle his rumbling stomach. Not. It did nothing for the grumbling of his body suffering, wanting food. Feliks disappeared for a moment and came back to where Toris lay on the floor a bit later, bringing all sorts of random assorted snack foods. He had got them from a vending machine- that Toris was sure of. Except for maybe the pocky. He had no idea how Feliks had come to possess that treat. He wasn't entirely convinced it was the best way to get nutrients, but supposed anything was better than nothing, so long as Feliks didn't force him into playing the pocky game. _Actually, that wouldn't be too bad_. Toris would never admit those thoughts to anyone else. Unfortunately, Feliks had watched his expression change and picked up on it, even if he didn't know why. The blond cocked his head in interest.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" He inquired, flopping onto the floor beside Toris as the brunette sat up and ate and drank some fizzy drinks Feliks had found. The Lithuanian shifted a bit and whispered a nervous 'nothing' before taking another sip of his drink self-consciously. Feliks leaned towards him a bit, "Wanna play the pocky game?" He chimed with a cute smile. Toris flinched slightly.

"I was afraid you'd say that," He let out a nervous chuckle as he said the words. Feliks looked slightly hurt, and Toris suddenly regretted speaking. _Why the hell does every tiny attempt at a joke that I make end horribly…?! Oh what have I done? This is why I don't speak…_

"Afraid…? Why…?" Feliks's optimism bounced back a bit, but his voice was a bit duller than before. Toris managed a shy smile.

"I've never played, sorry," He whispered, a bit embarrassed.

"Here, I'll teach you!" Feliks's smile returned. Toris flushed red but smiled regardless.

xXx

"Hurry the hell up, shotgun bastard!" Lovino snapped at Vash, who was lacing a boot, "You and the pancake bastard are the reason why we're making this _unnecessary_ trek, anyways! We don't even know if we should've trusted those people, and we also told that other group who we held at gunpoint that we'd be going in _their_ direction!" Lovino's insults and complaints had rained down for hours now, a brutal hail. Vash finished lacing the boot and grit his teeth.

"Leave me alone. I'm not the one doing the complaining- I'm making pretty good pace, actually," The Swiss man's heart clenched with a bout of anger he refused to release. Vash marched on, leaving the others a few paces behind with his back turned. He wasn't much for company of any sort. He never wanted company of any sort unless it was the one he had lost. The one he searched for. The person was obvious enough- everyone knew, for the most part. It wasn't that of why he was afraid to say the person's name- it jut hurt too much to even think that name until he knew for sure he was safe and reunited with that person again. Too many times he had been jinxed like that. It wouldn't happen again, not like this.

"Please don't fight…" Matthew trailed off, following them obediently as the promise of seeing his brother again grew more and more tempting. The three crested a steep ridge, the charred countryside a charcoal frame behind them, their bodies covered in chalky layers of smoke from the fire and their clothes tattered. It was like something from an apocalyptic novel, the sun high above them, beating its heat into their dirty skin. The group stood as silhouettes, debating whether to trek into the beginnings of the city that lie like a dead creature below them. They knew there'd be danger- horrid danger. Before any of them could hesitate a moment longer, a tendril of smoke caught their attention. It was a small, delicate wisp- like a butterfly. They approached cautiously, descending the ridge and moving into the shadows along the edge of the road. The object was a pipe, resting against a sewer grate in one of the farthest roads along the outskirts of the city. Vash recognized it as Lars's pipe, and his heart skipped a beat as he picked it up and pocketed it.

"I believe that's mine," A familiar, low voice came from behind the group. At last. Found. Vash's heart nearly broke with joy. The person he had scoured the Earth for was here. He had never remembered ever feeling such an emotion before.

Matthew knew that Lars and Alfred were travelling together. He would see his brother. The Canadian's pulse quickened and both anxiety and excitement built in his chest like a dam holding back water. He kept the emotion from escaping, but his eyes glittered brightly.

Lovino's heart sank. He wouldn't let any of them know, but he had secretly hoped that the two would never find the ones they looked for. It was selfish and foolish, he knew, but at least they had someone. Anyone he had was gone. He felt broken. The Italian knew that they would ditch him- they had no reason to keep him around. Awful. He felt awful. All this way to be dumped back to the start. The Italian didn't know if he could live with himself if his heart broke one more time. And break it did. Soon, it would be a matter of hiding his tears. They couldn't think him rude _and_ weak. But he couldn't hold it back. As that thought crossed his mind, the amber-eyed boy burst into salty tears, the crystal shapes tracing paths down his face. They both had someone. He'd never have anyone.


End file.
